


if you’re wondering if i want you to (i want you to)

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Asexual Jughead Jones, CSA, Canon Compliant (partially), Dealing w/ trauma, Dysphoria, Flimsy understand of the legal system, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jarchie - Freeform, M/M, Other, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, Trauma, gratuitous amounts of personal headcanons, the lack of betty was not intentional, trans Jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-09-30 03:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: A progression, of sorts.Archie and Jughead figure out how to beArchie&Jugheadagain, and all that entails.





	1. carry my fears as the heaven sets fire

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [если хочешь знать: да (делай свой шаг)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133076) by [fierce_cripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fierce_cripple/pseuds/fierce_cripple)



> i don't even know what to say about this thing; it started after one night when i just wanted to write the first scene, and grew from there. and grew, and grew, and grew some more. it evolved into this huge story that basically addresses a lot of headcanons i have about the boys, about their lives, and picks up a few places that i felt riverdale should've covered but didn't.
> 
> i started writing this shortly after ep4 came out, and i'm honestly too scatter-brained to try and incorporate canon from eps5 and 6 into this. so, consider it canon-divergent from ep4 onward. 
> 
> this is very slice of life. it's several snippets of the boys rebuilding their relationship and falling in love. it's not a perfectly well-rounded story, and picks up and leaves off in several spots because that's how the story demanded it be told. i've broken it up into chapters to make it easier to read, and hopefully it'll make sense to you all the same way it does to me.
> 
> gosh, this is a long note. uh, last things--major shoutouts to wayonwayout and devilstrips for encouraging me as i wrote this and being great cheerleaders! without them, it wouldn't have happened honestly.
> 
> i think that's all i've got left to say overall! expect some notes here and there with each chapter. i really hope y'all enjoy this. feedback is adored and appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts with a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning in this chapter for a lot of dysphoria and jughead freaking out/panicking. after this chapter, the dysphoria is fairly minor but this chapter is pretty heavy with it.
> 
> on with the story!

“Yes, but you’re _you_ , and I’m _me_. You do you, _girl_. I’ll be back.”

 

Jughead doesn’t even watch her leave; he feels stricken to the core by the words that spilled so easily from Veronica Lodge’s lips. Well, really, just _one_ word. It bounds around his skull like a hyperactive animal, running circles around his brain. It echoes endlessly and he feels sick to his stomach. He lurches forward and hides his face in his hands, somewhat grateful that Kevin is more enthralled with the drama outside than with him.

Jughead shudders and tries to catch his breath. When he opens his eyes, his gaze is littered with spots and he knows the tendrils of a panic attack are reaching for him. He inhales and exhales, counts every second while painfully aware of his jackhammer heartbeat. It feels like a hummingbird is stuck in his chest and he drops a hand to his sternum, swallows around the fear throttling him from the inside out.

“Jughead?” Kevin’s voice breaks through the fog, slightly. “You don’t look so good.”

Jughead opens his mouth to disagree but stops at the last moment. Acid burns in his gut and the looming threat of bile is all too familiar. He shakes his head and tumbles out of the booth, makes a beeline for the bathroom. He doesn’t register the murmurs that follow his sudden movement. All that matters is getting to the stall before he loses his lunch (dinner, actually, but who cares).

He hits the porcelain with enough force to bruise. He grips the white edges and heaves. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, but it feels like ages. His throat grows sore so quickly and his eyes are swollen and wet, tear tracks staining his cheeks. His knuckles are pale as the fucking toilet he’s clinging to like a life raft. He distantly hears the soft thud of his hat falling off his head, onto the tiled bathroom floor.

Eventually, there’s nothing left for him to give. He chokes, spits out the acid lingering in his mouth, before his stomach starts to settle. The panic has subsided, too, if only just. His heart isn’t thrumming so hard and his head isn’t swimming so much. He rests against the rim of the toilet and tries to regulate his breathing again.

 

 

A knock startles him from a near doze.

“Jughead?” Archie’s voice is quiet and probing and so fucking gentle.

“Go away, I’m fine,” Jughead croaks.

“Kevin said you were freaking out before you ran in here.” The stall door, locked, creaks as Archie presumably leans his weight against it. “Said you were pale and sweaty.”

“So I’m not a natural suntanned god like you, Andrews, forgive me.” Jughead shivers as the urge to vomit again ripples through him to no avail. He curls tighter around the toilet. He hears Archie sigh, and for one blissfully bitter moment Jughead thinks his former best friend will leave.

“I’m not going anywhere.” His words are followed by the scrape of fabric, as Archie sinks to the ground. He sits with his back up against the door; Jughead can make out the hem of his varsity jacket, even the waistband of his dumb boxers. “I’ll be here, when you’re ready.”

“Fuck you.” Jughead coughs into the toilet and closes his eyes against the heat of tears. It does nothing to stop himself from crying again, and his whimpers echo inside the toilet bowl. It’s embarrassing, infuriating, his chest aches and his head throbs. He hiccups over a particularly strong sob and finally reaches back to unlock the stall door. The minute he does it, Archie yanks the door open and nearly dives into the too-small stall beside Jughead.

“Jug,” Archie murmurs. He immediately pets down Jughead’s spine with one hand and pushes back Jughead’s matted down hair with the other. Archie worries his lower lip as he takes in Jughead’s appearance, and it’d be cute and probably a little enticing if Jughead could feel anything other than dizzying self-hatred. “Jughead, what happened?”

Jughead shakes his head again and tries to bat at Archie’s hands. Archie’s touch doesn’t move; if anything, he shuffles impossibly closer.

“I’m gonna be right here, when you’re ready.”

 

It takes a while, and in the back of his mind Jughead wonders why no one else has come to use the bathroom in all this time, but eventually Jughead can find the words.

“She said _girl_.” He laughs, mirthless. He throws his head back and lets his laugh rattle the walls until he’s hit with another wave of nausea. “She said _girl_ , she doesn’t even _know_ but, but, _fuck_.” Jughead leans over the toilet again and dry heaves for a few minutes. All the while, Archie pats his back delicately.

“Who?” He asks, when the retching stops.

“Ronnie.” Jughead sits back and lets himself fall out of Archie’s grasp. He leans against the stall and finally lets go of the porcelain throne. “She didn’t mean it—y’know, _that_ way. It’s just how she is, how she talks. But.” He can feel his chin wobble, like he’s a fucking child.

“Shit.” Archie breathes. “Shit, Jughead, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.” Jughead shrugs. He reaches past Archie and pulls a few sheets of toilet paper off the roll. He dabs at his eyes and his mouth, tosses the tissues into the bowl. “It’s dumb.”

Jughead startles when Archie takes him by the hands.

“It’s not.” Archie’s eyebrows furrow so intensely, his lips tight and turned downward. “It’s not stupid at all, Jughead, you _know_ that.”

Jughead opens his mouth to argue, but Archie cuts him off.

“I’ll tell her—I mean, we can. I won’t tell her if you don’t want me to. But I can tell her, if _you_ don’t wanna tell her.” Archie grows pink in the face and trips over his words as he tries to backtrack. “We don’t have to tell her at all, but I just think it’ll happen again and I don’t—I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

Jughead snorts.

“I’m serious.” Archie holds Jughead’s hands tighter. It’s not enough to hurt, just warm and reminds Jughead how exhausted he is. “I’m dead serious, Jug. I know we’ve been in a shitty spot lately and I know I royally messed up but I swear to god, the last thing I want to see—now more than ever—is you being hurt.”

A new lump rises in Jughead’s throat.

“Tell me how I can make this better.”

Jughead registers the words slowly. He closes his eyes and sighs and considers them. “Uh, maybe.” He swallows. “Let me crash at your place tonight?”

The surprise that lights up Archie’s face is adorable, and makes Jughead feel a little bad for not telling the whole truth. “What? Yeah, of course.” He looks bewildered. “I mean, I guess I should ask dad, but you know he won’t care.”

Jughead nods. “Yeah.” He swallows and grimaces; his mouth is dry but still thick with the taste of his anxiety. “And maybe you could just… send her a text? I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. And I don’t want her to feel bad.” He leans his head against the stall. “And you might have to carry me home, cuz I’m not sure I can stand.”

Archie’s laugh is loud and startling, but in a good way. He nods eagerly and finally lets go of Jughead’s hands. He stands and brushes dirt off his jeans before moving for Jughead.

“I was kidding!” Jughead protests, though he doesn’t put up much of a fight when Archie grabs him under his armpits and hauls him up with ease. “Jeez, when did that happen?” He says with a broad gesture to Archie’s strength.

It earns him another bark of laughter. “Summer,” Archie replies with a shrug. He helps Jughead stand and checks him over about a dozen times before they finally make it out of the stall. Archie goes first and pulls Jughead along carefully, handles him so uneasily like Jughead is about to break or burst.

Jughead detaches from Archie long enough to look himself over in the mirror. He’s still pale, still looks like he ran a marathon in the pouring rain. He reaches up and combs through his hat-flattened hair.

“Archie, can you—?”

“Got it.” Archie stands behind him in the mirror, beanie in one hand. He steps forward and pushes it over Jughead’s ears in a well-practiced, nostalgia-ridden move. He doesn’t push too hard and doesn’t shove it past Jug’s eyes. It sits just right, and Jughead feels another wave of exhaustion wash over him.

“We should go.” Jughead says quietly before letting Archie take him by the hand again. Pop’s is emptier than when this whole debacle began, and Jughead counts it as a small blessing. Grundy is gone too, and Archie doesn’t miss Jughead’s audible, heavy sigh of relief. He does look a little long-suffering, but doesn’t say a word and again, Jughead is grateful.

Jughead gathers his stuff from the now abandoned booth while Archie goes to Fred. He can’t hear them talking, but doesn’t need to. He knows Fred will say yes, both out of guilt and a long-standing belief in his and Archie’s friendship. Jughead looks at his backpack, full of notebooks and a single change of clothes. He grabs his laptop case and swings it over one shoulder. He thinks about his other stuff left in the drive-in booth, and wonders how long he can crash at Archie’s.

“Jughead, you ready?”

Jughead looks up and realizes Archie and Fred are both staring at him. He nods wordlessly, and follows them out.

 

 

“I’m gonna go make up the spare bedroom, okay?” Archie says after Fred has wandered to the kitchen and Jughead is still taking his shoes off at the door.

“Maybe, can, uh,” Jughead pauses.

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep in your room? I can sleep on the floor, that’s totally okay. I just.” He blinks and the grimy little cot at the drive-in flashes behind his eyelids.

Archie just smiles. “Course,” he replies. He motions for Jughead to follow, as though he’s forgotten the way to Archie’s room. The way that he’s trekked a million and one times, for what feels like a million and one years. Sure, he hasn’t retraced these steps for nearly six months, but he could make it to Archie’s room blindfolded and blackout drunk, probably. Maybe it’ll come in handy someday.

“Jughead?”

He startles. “Shit, sorry, I keep.” He gestures to his head and makes the gesture for ‘crazy.’ The concern doesn’t dissipate from Archie’s gaze, but it does infuse with a little touch of amusement.

“You want anything? Food?”

“Just water.” Jughead leaves his backpack by the closet and rests his laptop bag in Archie’s desk chair. “I don’t have pajamas.” The realization stuns him, not because he doesn’t have any with him but because he doesn’t have any _at all_. Not even crammed into his enormous backpack that’s sitting at the drive-in. He has no sweatpants or flannel pajamas. Just jeans and ratty t-shirts and more underwear than he maybe needs.

“You can borrow some of mine.” Archie frowns at his dresser. “I think I still have some of my old stuff. That might fit you better.” He waves a hand toward his beat-up dresser. “I’ll get the water, you find something you wanna wear.”

Jughead starts to rummage through the dresser drawers after Archie leaves. It feels weirdly intimate, even as he studiously avoids the drawer he knows is full of underwear. He eventually pulls out a shirt that’s probably not that old, and will definitely swamp him. He throws it over his shoulder and keeps digging until he comes across a pair of paint-stained drawstring sweatpants. They’ll probably still be a little too big, too, but it’s better than the jeans still digging into his skin.

He creeps to the bathroom a few doors down and leaves the lights off. He knows this bathroom like the back of his hand, too, so changing in the pitch black is hardly an issue. It also has the added benefit of not being able to see himself in the mirror, which helps more than anything. Reluctantly, Jughead peels off his binder and shivers as his skin is exposed to the air. It feels weird, the weight on his chest.

He does his best to ignore it as he finishes changing. The shirt is enormous, and hides the curves of his chest and hips. He has to tie the sweatpants as tight as possible and even then, they still hang off him obnoxiously. They pool at his feet, too, which is ridiculous when he’s really a little taller than Archie.

When he gets back to Archie’s room, the bed is covered in extra blankets and there’s a cup of ice water on the bedside table. Archie is sitting on the edge of his bed, fidgeting.

“What, did you think I bailed?”

“No!” Archie stands as he shouts. “No,” he says again, quieter. “I’m just worried about you.”

“Yeah,” Jughead says, deliberately vague. He tosses his clothes in the direction of his backpack and then hurries toward the water. He gulps down half the icy glass in a moment before sighing in relief. “I needed that.”

Archie is still watching him with dark eyes so wide and earnest.

“Can we not do this tonight?” Jughead asks. “I just want to be friends tonight. I don’t want to talk about the bullshit with Grundy, or Veronica, or any other girls. I don’t want to talk about last summer and I don’t want to hear any apologies.” He finishes the rest of the water and sets the cup aside.

Archie just nods. “Whatever you want, Jug.”

Jughead doesn’t reply. He slinks into bed, taking his rightful place closest to the wall. Despite the fact it’s been ages since he was last here, ensconced in Archie’s familiar scent and the well-known weight of his blankets—despite that, it feels like home. He watches Archie—who also changed into pajamas, at some point—slip into bed beside him. Immediately, once they’ve both settled, sleep tugs at Jughead.

“Jughead?”

He winces but doesn’t open his eyes. He grunts in response.

“Dad says we can skip school tomorrow. If you wanna.”

Jughead contemplates the offer, but as much as he’d like to stay here and never leave, that’s just not realistic. He can’t indulge something like this too much, because the longer he stays here the more it’s going to hurt when he inevitably has to leave. “Nah,” he says in a tone that’s amazingly even. “I’ll be okay.”

“Whatever you want,” Archie says again.

 

The next morning, there’s a modest bouquet of three hyacinths with a delectable looking cupcake in a plastic container at his seat in biology. He doesn’t need to look around to know Veronica is watching him with baited breath. He sits down with a smile and pops open the container with a resounding, neat _snap_. He catches Veronica’s sigh of relief and laughs under his breath. As he eats the cupcake, he thinks to himself—

_At least some things are easy._

 

 

Archie catches up with him after school. “Hey,” he greets as he falls in step with Jughead.

“Hey,” Jughead answers slowly. He’s suspicious—Archie has this look on his face like he’s got an _idea_ , one that clearly involves Jughead.

“Was wondering if you wanted to stay the night again.”

The suspicion dissipates in an instant, replaced with gratefulness and fear in equal measure. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Archie doesn’t look wounded by the dismissal. No, he looks determined. “You know you wouldn’t be.”

Jughead swallows. “You sure? Did you ask your dad?” Both are stupid questions; Archie is very clearly sure and it wouldn’t matter if he’d asked Fred or not.

The unimpressed look on Archie’s face speaks volumes.

“Okay, sure.” Jughead decides not to argue. “Why not?” He throws in a shrug and hesitant laugh for good measure.

There’s something in Archie’s eyes that doesn’t seem to settle with Jughead’s agreement, but he doesn’t push it any further. Rather, he grins and claps Jughead on the shoulder. “Awesome. I don’t feel like practice today.” With that, they start off down the street toward the Andrews residence. “You doing okay?”

“Hm?” Jughead looks over.

“With Veronica, and everything.”

“Oh. That.” Jughead shrugs. “I’m fine. The cupcake was good.”

“What did you do with the flowers?”

“Stuck them in my locker.”

“They’re gonna dry up, you know.”

“It goes along with my image.”

Archie laughs. “I’ve missed you, Jughead.”

Jughead’s mouth runs dry. He hums in response, instead, looking straight ahead.

“I do really want to be friends again.” Archie persists. “I want to make things right between us again.”

“Archie—don’t.” Jughead raises a hand to silence his friend. “We’re on the right track, okay? We’ve both done our apologizing and I don’t want to do anymore, if we can help it.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just… hang out, and play video games, and do what teenage boys do. Okay?”

“Okay.” Archie’s smiling now, and Jughead can’t stare too long—it’s like looking at the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had this idea stuck in my head for a while, but after i finished writing these scenes, the inspiration just didn't stop flowing, and the rest of the fic happened. hope you liked this chapter, and i hope you're excited to read the rest!
> 
> i'll be posting chapters every couple days, probably about twice a week, just so you know!


	2. i want to know, what's your quietest feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briefly, things go downhill.

It doesn’t last. Which is disappointing, but not unexpected.

Jughead stays at the Andrews home for three nights in total, before Archie starts to drift again and Jughead decides his welcome is overstayed. He packs up all his stuff on the third night, and the next morning he’s gone before Fred or Archie are even awake.

Coming back to the drive-in feels nothing like coming home. It’s cold, and musty, and when he falls onto the bed, he cries. Unashamedly, and alone, he cries. He doesn’t sleep that night, either. He can’t get comfortable, after three nights spent not only in a bigger, plusher bed—but spent with another person alongside him.

 _Archie_ alongside him.

Jughead groans, wet and soft, and buries his face in his misshapen pillow. His cheeks are warm and his mind is too sluggish to put aside the thoughts he’s been staving off for days. The thoughts of how much he _does_ miss Archie, misses their friendship. Doesn’t miss biting his tongue every time he wants to say too much— _I love you, I’ve been in love with you for fuck knows how long, what about you?_

But misses being close.

Jughead groans again and closes his eyes tight. Eventually, he falls asleep.

 

 

 **From: Anchovie**  
_9:44pm  
__can we talk?_

Jughead is cooped up against the wall of the booth. The drive-in is closed for the night, and the room is so cold Jughead can see his every exhale. It’s overall pathetic, but not as pathetic as the way his heart leaps when he sees the message. There’s anger, frustration simmering under it all, but more than anything there’s glee.

 **From: Anchovie**  
_9:50pm  
__jug, please. i need someone to talk to and ur the only one whose gonna understand, i think_

Jughead taps out the response before Archie can doubt him.

 **To: Anchovie**  
_9:51pm  
__yeah. Over text, or you wanna call?_

His phone lights up immediately with an incoming call notification. He slides his fingertip across the screen and brings the phone to his ear, does his best to tamp down on his shivering.

“What’s up?”

_“It’s over.”_

“What?”

 _“With Grundy.”_ Archie’s exhale is shaky. _“I was going to end it anyway, because—because it’s the right thing to do. But, then.”_

“Take your time.”

 _“Betty, and her mom, and my dad barged in.”_ Archie laughs, mirthless. _“Betty tried to stop her mom, but… I mean, you know Mrs. Cooper. She’s kind of impossible to stop.”_

“What happened?”

_“She offered to quit—Ms. Grundy, I mean—but that wasn’t enough. Mrs. Cooper said it wasn’t good enough, and my dad agreed.”_

“Are—holy shit, Archie.” He doesn’t ask _are you okay_ , because that’s probably the worst thing he could ask. “What’s gonna happen now?”

The rustle that crackles over the phone sounds like a shrug. _“I don’t really know. Dad took me and Betty home, and Mrs. Cooper stayed behind until Sheriff Keller showed up.”_

“Fuck.”

Another laugh. _“Yeah. I think there might be a trial, or something. Dad wouldn’t talk about it too much, but I think it’s gonna happen.”_

Jughead runs a hand through his tangled hair. “Do you want me to come over? Or, uh.”

 _“No.”_ Archie’s refusal isn’t harsh or sharp, just tired. _“I just needed to talk to someone who wasn’t my dad or Betty. They both just keep apologizing over and over and I don’t want that anymore.”_

“That makes sense.”

_“… It feels like nothing makes sense. Or is gonna make sense.”_

“It will, Archie. It’s—I don’t know when, but it will.” Jughead’s hand is starting to hurt from holding the phone so tight. “I promise.”

_“Yeah?”_

“Yeah.” Jughead nods to himself.

_“Jughead?”_

“Archie?”

 _“Can we just stay on the phone? I’m probably gonna fall asleep soon, but…”_ True to his word, a yawn breaks up his sentence.

“Sure, sure.” Jughead sinks to lay down. He pulls the blankets up until he’s covered from head to toe.

 _“Are you,”_ another yawn, _“are you hiding under the blankets?”_

“Shut up.” Jughead stifles his laugh with his hand. It doesn’t work, and it feels so good to laugh that Jughead stops trying to hold it back. He laughs, chortles, snickers into the phone and before long, Archie is laughing too. It’s a thin laugh, exhausted by the day he’s had, but it’s music to Jughead’s ears.

This can’t last either; in the morning Jughead needs to finish packing everything into his bag. In the morning, Andrews construction will start tearing down the drive-in, methodically. In the morning, he bets, he and Archie will go back to their barely-there, tentative friendship, and that will have to be just fine.

For now, at least, things are okay.


	3. seventeen with no place to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead finds a home.

Fred Andrews pulls up alongside him, and it’d be creepy if it didn’t also fill Jughead with warmth. He stops walking and Fred throws the car into park. He rolls down the window and motions Jughead closer.

“Hey Mr. Andrews.” Jughead asks. He grips the straps of his backpack, weighing down his shoulders, and does his best to grin. He’s exhausted and isn’t entirely sure where he’s going to sleep tonight, and hopes it doesn’t show. It’s been just over a week since the drive-in shut down, and finding new places to crash is harder and harder. He puts everything he can into false confidence and a wide smile.

“You need a ride?”

Jughead blinks. “What? Oh, no, I’m fine. Fresh air is good for me.”

The look Fred pins him with leaves no room for argument. Jughead walks around the front of the car and slips into the passenger side seat. He leaves his backpack at his feet as he buckles, and knows he’s in for it when Fred doesn’t bother asking where he’s headed. Fred starts to drive, and panic settles low in Jughead’s chest, but it’s warring with hope. Hope that maybe he’ll be able to crash at the Andrews’ residence tonight without seeming like a leech. Hope that—

“Jughead?”

He startles and looks at Fred, who’s still focused on the road. He’s going about five miles under the speed limit, and it doesn’t take long for Jughead to realize he’s driving an aimless direction.

“I’m sorry about the drive-in.”

Jughead looks down at his scuffed-up shoes. “It’s okay. You were doing your job. I know it wasn’t anything personal.” He looks out the window at the neighborhood slowly flickering past. They’ve been down this road twice already, and Jughead wonders if people will wonder why.

“Found some interesting stuff there when we were tearing it down, you know.” Fred finally takes a new turn, toward his own house. “A cot. Some blankets. Little coffee maker, even.”

Jughead’s throat closes up tight. Fred stops talking, and the rest of the drive to the house is silent save for the rumble of the car. Fred pulls into the driveway a little too fast, and the car groans in protest as he puts it into park a little too soon. Jughead opens his mouth and reaches for the door handle, but Fred speaks first.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Fred’s tone is gentle. There’s an undercurrent of anger, but it’s not directed at Jughead.

“I didn’t have anyone to tell,” Jughead replies, hand still hanging on the handle. He wants to say he was doing fine, that he can still be fine on his own, but the words catch in his throat like he’s full of thorns. He doesn’t _want_ to say any of that, because none of it is _true_. He’s tired and lonely and the few days he spent with the Andrews were the best he’s had in ages. Even if they feel like a hazy memory, despite being hardly a month prior—those few days are what he thinks about when he dozes off on a park bench or under the bleachers.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside.” Fred gets out of the car, and by the time Jughead has registered the words, Fred has the passenger door open too. And he’s reaching for Jughead’s backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. He steps back, and Jughead feels like a fawn on unstable legs as he climbs out of the car.

He follows Fred up the porch steps to the door, follows him inside and to the kitchen. Jughead takes a seat at the dining room table without a word, and Fred putters around long enough to bring a glass of water over. He sits down with a few fingers of scotch for himself, and Jughead eyes the amber liquid.

Fred laughs under his breath. “Don’t tell me you’re into drinking, too?”

Jughead shakes his head. “Never saw the appeal.” The truth feels good, even if it’s something that’s ultimately inconsequential in the grand scheme of it all. He reaches for the water and sips at it slowly, until his hands are slick with condensation and his lips don’t feel so dry.

“You can stay here.” Fred follows the words with a long swig of his drink. “I want you to stay here, Jug. You can’t be living on the streets like that. I know you and Archie are still figuring things out, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk out that door.”

Jughead stares at the half-melted ice in his glass. “I don’t want to be a pain in the ass.”

“You’d be a bigger pain in the ass if I had to know you were out there sleeping on park benches and doing god-knows-what to make it through the day.”

Jughead swallows uneasily.

“You gonna fight me on this, kid?” Again, there’s no heat in Fred’s voice. It’s soft, like he’s speaking to a spooked animal.

Jughead shakes his head. He shakes his head and closes his eyes tight against the threat of tears.

“Alright then.” Fred takes another sip. “We’ll need to get some new sheets on the guest bed, and you probably need to get some new clothes, huh?”

Jughead looks up in surprise. “You don’t have to do that. A roof—a roof over my head is plenty.”

Fred shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Let me do this for you, Jughead. Let me help you, okay?”

Jughead, for lack of anything to say, downs the last of his water instead. He nods, instead of replying aloud.

“Alright then,” Fred says again. “How about you go upstairs and get comfortable. There should be some sheets in the hall closet. You get settled.”

Jughead doesn’t move, and Fred doesn’t seem surprised.

“Can we not tell Archie?” Jughead asks quietly.

Fred sighs.

“He doesn’t need more stuff on his plate. He’s got enough going on.” It’s flimsy, even to Jughead’s ears, but he believes it whole-heartedly.

“You think he wouldn’t want to know what his friend is going through?”

“I don’t think he _needs_ to know,” Jughead retorts, immediately regretting the bite in his tone. Fred doesn’t seem perturbed by it and carries on without missing a beat.

“I can’t promise you that, Jug. I’m not going to lie to my son. You want to put together some story, be my guest. I’ll keep my mouth shut.” His drink empty, Fred stands and moves to the sink. His glass hits the porcelain with a clink that seems impossibly loud. “You tell him whatever you want to tell him. I won’t say a word.”

Jughead takes the words as a dismissal and picks up his backpack where Fred left it by the threshold. He hurries upstairs quietly, thoughts ablur. He slips into the guest room with his heart hammering, but the relief that washes over him as he sets down his bag again is too heady to ignore. He feels like he’s on solid ground for the first time. He won’t be slipping from place to place, won’t be struggling to stay warm or go undetected. He’s got four walls and a roof, a real bed that’s not too small and doesn’t smell like mothballs.

He stumbles toward the bed and falls face down onto the comforter. It does smell a little dusty, unused, but it’s still better than anything he’s known the past year or so. He curls up in a ball and tries to ignore Fred’s words ringing in his head. They don’t fade, and while they aren’t quite haunting they’re still incessant.

He doesn’t even know what kind of lie he could put together. Nothing simple, he knows. There’s too many puzzle pieces and too many jagged, unfitting edges. Inevitably he’d leave ends fraying loose, and everything would unravel anyway. He knows Archie might accept something at face-value, but it wouldn’t last. Archie would get too nosy, or someone else would. Jughead still tries to come up with something, even just an inkling of a reasonable story… and comes up short.

A little voice in the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like _Fred_ , tells him that more secrets are the last thing his and Archie’s friendship needs. He feels sick to his stomach as he reaches for his phone, and his hands shake as he taps out the text.

 **To: Anchovie**  
_6:45pm  
__when you get home, we should talk_

The response comes faster than he expected.

 **From: Anchovie**  
_6:46pm  
__okay. Dad said ur staying the night_

 **To: Anchovie**  
_6:50pm  
__yeah_

Jughead stares at his phone until his eyes start to droop. Oddly enough, he’s not alarmed to not get a response. It doesn’t spark a panic in him, but maybe that’s just the exhaustion talking. He scoots until he can rest his head on the pillows, and dozes off with his phone in his hands.

 

 

Jughead wakes slowly, and feels entirely justified and yelping when he’s face to face with Archie Andrews. He yelps and flings himself away, nearly toppling off the bed entirely.

“What the hell, man? Are you trying to be the next Edward Cullen?” Jughead lays a hand over his chest and shakes his head. “Jesus Christ. You know that’s not normal, right? Sitting and watching people sleep?”

Archie shrugs and heaves himself onto the bed beside Jughead. “What did you want to talk about?”

Jughead clears his throat. “Not wasting any time, huh?”

“You haven’t wanted to _actually_ talk in forever, Jug. Whatever it is, it’s gotta be serious.” Archie reeks, Jughead realizes. Reeks like he bailed on after-practice showers and came straight here. It’s both gross, and endearing. It’s a small favor, Jughead supposes, that Archie isn’t still clad in his jersey.

Jughead nods. “Yeah, kinda.” He looks down in his lap and twiddles his thumbs.

Archie doesn’t push him. He sits quietly beside Jughead, and waits.

“I’m homeless.” Jughead gets the two words out as fast as he can. It hurts to admit it, but it’s a necessary pain. “I have been. For a while.” He keeps his gaze intently focused on his lap, though he can make out Archie’s shocked expression from the corner of his eyes. “It just all went to shit, it doesn’t matter. But, uh. I was sleeping at the drive-in. When it got torn down…” He shrugs.

“Jughead…”

“Your dad figured it out, picked me up when I was out walking today. He said I can stay here.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Jughead scowls. “Who was I gonna tell? You were off doing in your own little world, I didn’t _have_ anyone else.”

“You could’ve told a teacher.”

“Oh, yeah, so what? So I could get stuck with some shitty foster family? I’d rather be on my own than have to deal with that.” Jughead curls his hands into fists so tight it aches. “Besides, after Jason’s murder? I wouldn’t have even been a blip on a radar. Not even close.”

Archie hugs him suddenly, knocks the air out of him. Archie hugs him close and tight and Jughead returns the grip without hesitation.

“I’m sorry, Jug. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

“Not like I let you.”

“Still.” Archie’s words are muffled against Jughead’s hair. “I know my dad already decided that you’re gonna live here, but, you know I want you here too, right? And I want us to be friends. But not just because we’re under the same roof. I want to be friends anyway, and I’m sorry I’ve gotten distant again, it’s dumb, but.” Archie’s grip tightens.

Jughead pushes until there’s enough space between them to breathe. “I don’t know that it’s gonna be easy, but I want to be friends again, too.”

Archie’s eyes are wet, and Jughead feels his own emotions rise. “Yeah?”

Jughead punches him in the arm, hardly enough to even faze him. “Yeah.” He rubs at his eyes, rubs away the tears pushing at his eyelids. He opens his mouth to say something else, something snarky or maybe something sweet, but his stomach growls. _Loud_. He laughs and looks down in disbelief. “Shit, sorry.”

When he looks up, Archie is back to looking panicked. “Have you not been eating?” He asks suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, he takes Jughead by the hand and pulls him up. “C’mon, dad’s cooking downstairs. C’mon.” Archie manhandles him out of the guest bedroom—Jughead’s bedroom, now—and down the stairs.

“Hey.” Fred nods from where he’s standing at the stove. “Thought you two might be hungry, tossed some pizza pockets in the microwave to tide you over. It’ll be about an hour before dinner is ready.” Fred looks up from the pot he’s stirring, and wrinkles his nose. “Son, you _need_ to shower.”

Archie doesn’t respond and hurries toward the microwave, pulling Jughead along as he goes.

“Uh, Arch?”

Archie stops, and looks at his dad. “I don’t think Jughead has been eating enough.”

“Jughead is right here,” Jughead interjects pointedly. “And Jughead is hungry, like a normal teenage boy, not because he’s been homeless for a while.” His stomach growls again, and he’s not sure it’s helping his point.

Archie looks at him with eyes like a baby deer, pleading and difficult to resist. Fred looks concerned, but doesn’t seem sure of whose side to take.

“I’ll throw another box of pizza pockets in the microwave, why don’t you two go watch TV?”

Archie nods and looks to Jughead before leading the way toward the living room. He’s still got a grip on Jughead’s wrist, but he’s less pulling him along and more guiding him swiftly to the well-known, lumpy couch. They sit together, closer than strictly necessary when there’s the whole couch available. Archie rests the bowl of pizza pockets on a pillow in his lap, and tilts the bowl toward Jughead.

“I’m not about to faint from malnutrition, you know.”

Archie’s eyes narrow, and he shakes the bowl in Jughead’s direction again.

Jughead takes a handful of too-hot pizza pockets and eats them one by one under the watchful eye of his friend. Best friend? Maybe. Too soon to tell, exactly. Once he’s eaten the whole handful, Archie shakes the bowl again.

“Oh, c’mon. You just spent like three hours burning calories by being excessively masculine. You need to eat too.”

Archie obediently scoops up a few snacks and eats them hurriedly. His stare is unwavering, and would be unnerving if not for the smear of pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth.

Jughead laughs and points. “You’ve got a little something, uh, on your face.”

Archie wipes the back of his hand across his lips, managing to clear his cheek of the sauce in one go. “Good?”

“If I say no, will you stop trying to force feed me pizza pockets?”

Archie’s eyebrows draw together. “You just told me you’ve been homeless for who knows how long. I think I have every reason to think you haven’t been eating properly. It’s not that much of a leap.”

Jughead swallows his shame. “Probably could’ve used a few more meals here and there. But hey, thank god for free school meals, right?”

Archie frowns and holds up the bowl, right under Jughead’s nose. “Eat.”

Jughead reaches for another pizza pocket. “Can we at least watch TV?” He looks around for the remote and gets the bowl shoved into his hands instead. Archie is up in an instant, and grabs the remote from where it sits across the room by the TV. Jughead absently eats at the snacks as Archie fiddles with the remote and television. Eventually, the screen lights up and a sitcom fills the screen.

Jughead holds the bowl out as an offering once Archie sits back down, somehow even closer than before. Archie grins and takes a handful of his own.

 

“I’m glad you told me, Jug.” The pizza pockets are gone—yes, even the second serving Fred had popped in the microwave after they came downstairs—and dinner still isn’t quite ready. Fred is in the kitchen, and Jughead suspects he’s intentionally absent, to give them privacy.

“It would’ve come out eventually. I was running out of places to crash.”

God, and seeing Archie frown is like staring at a kicked puppy. “I’m glad you told me,” he says again. “I’m glad you didn’t just let me find out, or whatever. Thank you for telling me.”

Jughead nods slowly. “Yeah. Of course. What are friends for?”

Archie’s expression shifts, bright as the sun, into a cheek-splitting smile.

 

 

It’s like floodgates have opened and Jughead is drowning. Specifically, drowning in attention from none other than Archie Andrews. After that fated night with the pizza pockets, Archie has made it his personal mission to never leave Jughead alone, if he can help it. Or, at least, never leave him alone for long. Slowly but surely, Jughead turns the guest room into _his_ , with posters and notebooks, and clothes. Fred takes him shopping one weekend, and Archie surprises him with some clothes as a just-because present, too.

Things are still awkward, sometimes. Sitting at the dining room table in the early morning is wrought with unknowns, figuring out how to make this work. But it’s a good awkward, and far better than being on his own. Some part of him does ache for the drive-in, for the nostalgia packed inside its walls. Mostly, though? He doesn’t miss it one bit.


	4. moments of magic and wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're learning how to be friends again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is very episodic, slice of life-esque. it's glimpses of the boys' life together and is a series of events loosely strung together. hope you enjoy!

If anything seems different to their friends, no one comments on it. Everything feels different to Jughead: he and Archie walk to school together every morning, and they sit closer at lunch, and they text each other during the dull classes. Everything begins to shift back to where it used to be; it’s not perfect, and the shadow of Grundy and what she did is still lingering over the school—over Archie…

But things are getting better. Things are getting easier, and staying that way.

What surprises Jughead the most is how the physicality of their relationship comes back to them. They’ve always been close, and hugging or holding hands or simply being close was never abnormal growing up. That started to change a little, once high school rolled around. But even the summer after freshman year often found the boys together, legs usually tangled as they took up the too-small treehouse or commandeered the living room at one of their houses.

Their conversations are hard, sometimes. They don’t fit quite the same as they used to. Where they used to be two puzzle pieces from the same box, side by side and perfectly slotting together—that no longer exists. Instead their edges are sharper, catching on each other uneasily. They both say the wrong things a lot, and take too long to make up sometimes.

But the physicality, that’s never difficult. Even when Archie has said something thoughtless or Jughead has gone too far with the sardonic humor, they still reach for each other in way that’s easy as breathing. Easier, even, sometimes. Falling asleep leaning against Archie, even when they still haven’t quite apologized to each other yet, is simply a given. Archie doing the same is just par for course.

It’s their semblance of normalcy, and comes back to them like riding a bike.

 

 

“You know, it’s crazy, but I was pretty sure this was _my_ room.”

Jughead looks over as Archie walks in. His hair is still damp from the after-practice shower and he’s beaming. Jughead shrugs from where he’s taking up Archie’s bed.

“I got bored in my room. Yours has a certain ambiance…” He waves a hand around. “I was inspired.”

Archie rolls his eyes and tosses his backpack aside. “Writing?”

“Little bit.” He gestures to where his laptop sits on the other end of the bed. “Your bed is comfier.”

Archie scoffs. He carefully plucks Jughead’s laptop from the bed and sets it on the desk, before shoving at his friend until there’s room for them both. Moments like these settle with a hush, like anticipation is building.

“How was practice?” He asks, ignoring the tension.

Archie launches into detailing his afternoon, and Jughead listens even if he doesn’t see the appeal of sports, doesn’t really _get_ football in particular.

 

 

“Can I ask you something?”

Jughead looks over, squints suspiciously at his friend. Archie isn’t looking at him, instead seems to be very absorbed in the book he’s got in his hands. He hasn’t read a word, Jughead knows. He can’t help but wonder how long Archie has been waiting to work up the nerve to speak.

“Shoot,” Jughead replies.

“Why aren’t you on testosterone?”

Jughead blinks. “Uh.” Of all the questions he maybe expected, that wasn’t one of them.

“You don’t have to answer.” Archie abandons his book. “I was just curious.”

Jughead quirks an eyebrow. “Mainly because it’s hard to get hormones or puberty blockers without parental permission. And, I mean, my dad isn’t a dick about it. But he’s not exactly eager to help it along, either. Plus, no insurance, and I can only imagine the costs. I can’t pay for that, and you _know_ my dad couldn’t.” Jughead draws his knees up to his chest, wraps his arms around them. “I could get emancipated, and I’ve considered it, but given that I don’t have like, a real home, or whatever, I feel like I’d have a better chance of ending up in foster care instead. I don’t see that ending well.”

Archie stays silent, so Jughead continues.

“I’m not gonna say it’s _easier_ right now. It sucks. It sucks in so many ways.” He tips his head back and sighs at the ceiling. “But it’s kind of what I’m stuck with.” He shrugs, and looks back at Archie. “Plus, sometimes, I… I get that _doubt_. This really annoying feeling that if I _did_ go on hormones, I’d be making a mistake. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like I’d be doing irreversible damage by just _starting_ them. But that doubt still hangs out, which is annoying, but.”

Archie’s mouth is open a little.

“You okay? I didn’t bore you to death, did I?”

“No!” Archie looks upset by the very notion. “I just—I was reading up on some of the stuff. And I came across hormones, and realized you weren’t on them, and I was just. Curious.” He fidgets, toys with the hem of his shirt. “Do you think you’ll ever start them?”

Jughead shrugs again. “I like to think so. I like to think that when I’m a little older that doubt will be gone, and I’ll be an adult, and can finally just get a move on. It’s not even an ‘if’ in my mind, it’s a ‘when.’ I can see it so clearly, who I want to really be Who I am.” Jughead smile. “It’s a nice thought.”

“Yeah,” Archie agrees.

“Were you reading up on stuff, for me?” Jughead asks, swift and casual and completely shattering the calm atmosphere that had fallen over them.

Of all things, Archie looks guilty.

“No, no, dude, c’mon.” Jughead stretches out and nudges Archie’s leg with his foot. “It’s nice. I appreciate that.”

“I just wanna know more.” Archie keeps fiddling with his shirt. “I wanna do whatever I can to help.”

Jughead ducks his head and grins. “You already help a lot. Just by understanding, and, y’know, supporting me.” Jughead picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “You calling me dude helps a lot.”

Archie’s laugh is short but sweet.

Jughead shrugs. “You do a lot for me, Arch.”

“I want to do more, whatever I can,” he says again. He leans forward, earnest and eager.

“Okay, okay,” Jughead relents. “If anything else comes up, I’ll tell you. Alright?” Jughead waits until Archie nods before continuing. “Alright, now that that’s settled…”

 

 

Jughead’s homework is long abandoned in favor of watching Archie quietly work on songs. He’s strumming along, singing under his breath, taking moments to scratch out the tune onto paper. It’s hypnotic to watch, far more interesting than Jughead’s chemistry assignment. He doesn’t sit up, doesn’t move, unwilling to disturb Archie’s focus even remotely. He watches, flat on his back in the garage, as Archie taps his foot against the concrete floor and plays.

It isn’t until Archie sets the pencil aside and looks over that Jughead finally moves. He sits and props himself up against the other recliner in the garage. He doesn’t bother to haul himself into the well-worn leather seat.

“That’s the first time I’ve gotten to hear you play.”

Archie pinks in the cheeks. “Really?”

Jughead nods. “You’re great, Arch.”

The blush worsens. “I—thanks, Jug.”

Jughead nods rather than speaking. The grin he gets flashed back at him is sheepish and sweet, before Archie ducks his head and starts to strum again.

Jughead doesn’t bother picking his homework up. It’s a lost cause. Instead he relaxes, tips his head back against the chair and lets his eyes fall shut as he listens.

 

 

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

Jughead looks away from his laptop. Archie is sitting in the other recliner, gaze unfocused.

“Do what?” Jughead asks slowly.

“The trial. Counseling.” Archie shrugs. “All of it.”

Jughead closes his laptop. “Archie…”

“I want to.” Archie frowns. “At least, I think I do. I know I should.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. They can’t make you do anything.” It feels weird not to move closer, so sit a couple feet apart in recliners older than them both. But it feels wrong to move, too, like this moment is so fragile the slightest twitch could fracture it.

“I know.”

“What do you want, Archie?”

“To take it all back.”

Jughead doesn’t tell him he can’t. Jughead doesn’t tell him it’s silly, or stupid, or childish. He just nods.

“I don’t know,” Archie admits after a while. “I think I just needed to say that out loud. Now that—now that it’s out there, it seems less scary.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” Archie finally looks over, directly at Jughead. “It’s still scary, beyond belief. But… I guess, admitting that it’s freaking me out helps.”

Jughead nods again. “That’s good.”

Archie grins, tiny and delicate.

 

 

“So.” Veronica sits across from him suddenly.

Jughead looks up. “Uh.”

“What are you going to do about Archie?”

“That’s—that’s really none of your business.” He wants to put more heat, more venom into the words, but mostly he’s surprised she’s even here. Not that they aren’t friends, just not _close_ friends. And not that it’s unusual for her to be at Pop’s on a sunny Saturday, but, well, it kind of is.

“Oh, come on. It’s obvious you’re both in love with each other.”

Jughead glares.

Veronica doesn’t relent—also not a shock. “I’m just trying to help.”

“The last thing he needs right now is someone else trying to get with him. He’s got enough going on right now that what he needs is friends, that’s it.” He sits back and stares at his half-empty plate. “I’m not going to try and tell him how I feel. This is literally the worst time for that.”

Veronica falls silent as she evidently considers his words. “Fair,” she concedes. “Well, if you do ever need help, let me know. Or Betty. We’re ready to help.”

With that, she stands and strides out the door so fast it’s almost like she was never there.

 

 

The conversation is inevitable. For all that they’ve talked about it, they’ve never _really_ talked about it. They’ve talked around it, maybe, like sidestepping an especially bad pothole on a too-familiar road. So, the conversation is inevitable, and rather anticlimactic when it happens.

 

“I told you,” Jughead says without heat, “I’m tired of apologies.”

“No, I need—I need to know that you’ve heard this.”

Jughead looks over. He’s sitting in the middle of his bed, surrounded by homework, and Archie is pacing around his room like a chicken with its head cut off. “Archie, I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I know.” Archie runs his hands through his hair. “I just want you to know—that _I_ know what I did was fucked up.”

“I don’t exactly blame you, y’know.”

“Still.” Archie’s eyes are wide and he looks ready to barrel on.

Jughead motions him closer. As Archie walks, Jughead shoves most of his homework to the side. He scoots until his back is against the wall and there’s room for Archie to sprawl on the bed too. Barely enough room, but it’ll do.

“I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”

Archie nods; he looks startled when Jughead guides him so that his red hair is spilling across Jughead’s lap. Jughead, idly, combs his fingers through Archie’s hair.

“What happened with her wasn’t your fault. I was pissed at the time, but I didn’t know the whole story. You were still kind of a dick, but so was I.” His thumb moves gently across the line of Archie’s jaw. “I’ve moved on. I know—I know there’s still a lot to deal with, about _her_. But I don’t want you hung up on me, okay? I don’t want you thinking you need to keep trying to earn me back, or whatever.

“You get these thoughts in your head, I know, that you think you’ve got to try and fix everything.”

Archie grins, guilty but more relaxed than a few moments ago.

“This?” Jughead gestures between the two of them. “This doesn’t need fixing, okay?”

When Archie doesn’t answer, Jughead pinches his cheek. Archie yelps and sits up. “Okay! Okay!”

“Good.” Jughead reaches for his homework again. “Now, either go get your homework so I can help you, or let me finish mine in peace.”

Archie lays back down, this time beside Jughead rather than pillowing his head in Jug’s lap. He stays while Jughead gets back to work on his paper for English, silent save for the rhythm of his breathing.


	5. where i laid and told you but you swear you loved me more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kiss, and the aftermath of Jennifer Gibson's meddling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for archie discussing his trauma, and his feelings. there's not any explicit discussion of the CSA itself, but there's a lot of self-loathing on archie's part as he explains what he's feeling.
> 
> also, disclaimer that i have only the most bare knowledge of how a trial would truly work (my understanding comes from law&order) so the trial in this is short, and to the point, and not overly description.

The sniffling catches his ear one night when he’s up to take a leak. He’s just creeping out of the bathroom when a hushed whimper and the shifting of sheets draw him toward Archie’s room. The door is open enough for Jughead to peak in but not enough for Archie to see him. Not that Archie is even looking at the door; no, he’s on his side and holding his blanket close to his chest. His crying is louder, now that Jughead’s closer, and it breaks Jug’s heart slowly

He pushes at the door and the creak grabs Archie’s attention. Archie sits up slowly and Jughead doesn’t stop inching closer until he’s at the foot of the bed.

“Jug, hey, what’s up?” Archie’s voice is hardly more than a croak. The way he rubs hurriedly at his eyes isn’t too subtle either. Jughead frowns, and walks around the bed until he can slip under the covers, wrapping his arms around Archie’s torso. “Jughead?”

“You were crying.” Jughead focuses on a smattering of freckles that paint one of Archie’s shoulders. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Archie slowly melts into his touch and sinks back onto the bed. They lay there so long, Jughead wonders if Archie just fell asleep—which would be fine too. Jughead lets his own eyes fall shut, and he breathes easy until Archie speaks up again.

“It’s just now hitting me, everything that’s happened.” Archie’s hands fall to grip where Jughead is wrapped around him. “With Grundy.”

Jughead inhales sharply, but doesn’t reply.

“I—I really thought I went after her. I had convinced myself that I was the one pushing for it. But…” He swallows and his throat clicks, so dry and raw. “The more I think about it, the more I realize I was just fooling myself. _She_ offered me a ride, and she put her hand on my thigh, and _she_ kissed me first.”

Jughead holds him tighter when he starts to shake.

“I don’t know if she made me think it was all my idea, or if I was just trying to trick myself into believing that so everything else wouldn’t seem so bad. I don’t _want_ to be a victim, I didn’t want to be one. If I was the one who started it, then I wasn’t a victim.”

Jughead disagrees, but doesn’t say so.

“But that’s not true, Jughead. It’s just fuckin’ not.” Archie’s grip loosens for a split second, then tightens again. His nails are pressing crescents into Jughead’s arm, but neither boy comments. “What she did—it’s messed up. It’s _so_ messed up and it’s only _just_ now hitting me.”

“That’s normal,” Jughead breathes softly. “It can take time for everything to sink in. That’s totally normal.”

Archie shrugs. “It still makes me feel sick. That I didn’t realize it sooner, or end it sooner. Or never start in the first place.”

“It’s not your fault, Archie.” Jughead presses his forehead to the nape of Archie’s neck.

“It still feels like it is.” And like a dam breaking, a sob rips from Archie’s throat. He coughs around it and the words come tumbling out, seeming endless. Archie talks, and talks, and talks, and Jughead is overwhelmed by he listens to every single word. “It feels like it’s my fault even though everyone is telling me it’s not. I feel like a freak because—because I _miss_ her. I miss what we had. It felt real, you know? It felt like there was actually something there. I thought she honestly cared.”

Archie’s laugh is bitter. “I thought I was going to spend my life with her, did you know that? I fooled myself into thinking—!”

“You didn’t fool yourself into anything,” Jughead cuts across. “ _She_ tricked you. She made you feel that way on purpose. She _manipulated_ you.” Jughead breathes shakily.

“Why can’t I just _stop_ feeling this way?” Archie asks after a stretch of silence, thick like honey but nowhere as sweet.

“I dunno, Arch.” Jughead closes his eyes and soaks in Archie’s warmth and hopes he’s offering some in return. “I dunno.” He says it again and Archie deflates at the words. “You know what I _do_ know?”

Archie hums. Once more his grip on Jughead’s arm slackens, and he runs his touch apologetically over the welts he’s left behind.

“I know you’re gonna get through this.” Jughead nods and his hair flutters across Archie’s skin. “You’re gonna get through this, and she’s going to get exactly what she deserves. And one day, this isn’t gonna hurt so much. You’re gonna be okay. I know that.”

Archie finally rolls over and wraps his arms around Jughead too. His eyes are shining with tears, but there’s a small grin on his lips. “You think so?”

“No, I just told you. I _know_ so.” Jughead’s reply is prompt and matter-of-fact. He smiles at Archie, though his lower lip wobbles as he does.

“Will you be there?” Archie asks softly.

“At the trial?”

Archie’s nod is stunted, he nearly knocks Jughead in the nose, both of them pressed too close together.

“Of course.” Jughead nods, too, mindful of the minimal space between them. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be around after, too. Whenever you need me.”

“Always, Jug.” Archie buries his face in Jughead’s hair and his word are muffled. “I always need you.”

“Okay, then. It’s settled.” The words feel enormous, hanging above them. Jughead swallows his fear. “I’ll always be here.”

They stay wrapped up together until they finally fall asleep.

Jughead wakes up to Archie watching him; he’s too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to even be startled. He just yawns and watches Archie’s nose wrinkle at the stench of his morning breath. Jughead expression is smug.

Archie sobers quickly, and Jughead finds himself matching the expression.

“Did you mean it?” Archie asks.

“Last night? Which part?” Jughead shakes his head. “That’s a dumb question on my part. I meant every single thing I said last night.”

“Even the part about being around forever?”

Jughead nods without thinking. “That’s always been true.”

It’s startling and not at all surprising when Archie kisses him. Archie’s hand is warm as it cups Jughead’s cheek, and the kiss is tight-lipped, gentle. Jughead kisses back; he tilts his head so their noses don’t crash together, and he grips Archie’s shoulder tight. The kiss breaks but Archie doesn’t retreat; he plants another one on Jughead, and another, and another. Each one delicate, softer and softer.

“Archie,” Jughead breaks the silence. “What are we doing?”

“Something I’ve been dying to do forever.” Archie’s eyes are shut and he’s bright pink in the cheeks.

Despite the happiness blooming in his chest, Jughead can’t help the next words. “You’re emotional, Archie. I don’t know if this is the best time for, uh, _this_.” Jughead watches Archie’s face, watches the expression crumple, tight and withdrawn. “I’m not saying no, I’m not saying I don’t feel the same way. I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now.” He pushes Archie’s hair back, then pleads softly, “look at me, Arch.”

Archie does, eyes wet once more.

“I want this too.” He hasn’t ever said it aloud, not even to himself. He’s written it down a million different ways, a million different times, but he’s never said it aloud. “I love you too, Archie. So much. And that’s why I can’t let you do this right now, okay?”

Archie is still frowning, but he nods. “I understand,” he replies quietly.

“Are we okay?” Jughead asks, uncertain if he wants to hear the answer. The longer it takes Archie to reply, the more worried he becomes.

“Yeah,” Archie murmurs. “Yeah, we’re okay. You’re right.” He nods to himself and his nose brushes against Jughead’s, intimate and innocent. “I—?”

“Do not apologize, Archie Andrews.”

The stern tone clearly pulls Archie from his sadness, as his eyes shoot open wide and he looks at Jughead in shock. “What?”

“You were about to apologize for kissing me.” Jughead holds up a finger, shushing Archie soundlessly. “Don’t even try to deny it, I know you forwards and backwards.” Jughead waves his finger disapprovingly. “Don’t you ever apologize for that, okay? We’ll figure it out, after the mess with Grundy is behind us and after you’re in a better spot. Okay? Don’t apologize.”

“Okay,” Archie agrees. A grin spreads across his face, slow like molasses, and his eyes finally aren’t brimming with tears.

 

An awkward cough from the doorway scares them both, so much so that Archie goes tumbling out of his bed. Jughead looks over, panicked, to see Fred leaning against the doorway. His arms are crossed and he’s got an exaggerated disgruntled look on his face, but he’s smiling too and it’s impossible to take him seriously.

“You guys are gonna be late,” Fred says simply, before leaving them be.

Archie groans. “Parents are dumb.”

Jughead leans over the edge of the bed and looks down at his friend. “Yeah.” He spares a glance at Archie’s alarm clock. “He’s not wrong, though, _shit_.”

 

 

The kiss changes a lot of things.

 

True to their word, they don’t start dating. They don’t hold hands and they don’t mention that morning, those hushed and lingering kisses, to anyone. In truth, Fred is the only other person who knows something happened; even then, he’s more confused than not _because_ the boys haven’t started dating.

This promise that hangs over their heads, that glints in the future like the light at the end of a tunnel, it changes them. It’s there every time they catch each other’s gaze, or when their fingers brush. It’s there when they lay together on the floor of the garage and their bodies are pressed tight, side by side.

 

 

 

As promised, Jughead is there every day of the trial. In the end, he’s not called as a witness, even though he did offer. Archie didn’t want him to, and it wasn’t necessarily when everything is said and done. Nothing dramatic happens, like another victim bursting into court accusing Jennifer Gibson of abuse, but the case is open and shut all on its own. Archie tells his side of the story, and Gibson tells hers.

Jughead’s stomach roils as he listens. He wants to tune it out, but he can’t. He wants to reach for Archie and comfort him, but he can’t. As Gibson tells her story, the court room is still and silent. She doesn’t deny anything, though she puts more blame on Archie than Jughead can really stand. She does tell the same story about her abusive ex, but in the context of the trial, it doesn’t hold much weight.

She tries to paint herself as a victim, too, but Jughead is gratified when it doesn’t seem like anyone is buying it.  

Betty and Veronica are there each day too, and same as Jughead neither of them were called to testify. They sit through the sessions with wet eyes.

Fred stays beside Archie the entire time. He doesn’t speak, but he never lets go of Archie’s shoulder. He squeezes, now and then, and Jughead wishes he could be on his best friend’s other side. Wishes there was something more he could do than sit here, even though he knows this alone means a lot to Archie.

Each time court is adjourned for the day, Jughead falls in step with Archie and Fred, and they make a beeline for the car. No one speaks, and more often than not Jughead and Archie end up falling asleep sharing a bed. It’s not charged with anything except a desire to help, to fix things, to make all the lingering darkness finally fade.

 

 

It’s late afternoon when the jury comes back with a decision. It’s an easy choice, unsurprising and relieving, even though it won’t fix all the problems left behind. The minute the case is finally over—Gibson has been read her sentence, the clamor has settled, Archie is, at least somewhat, _free_ —Archie stands. He shoots up like a rocket and practically tackles Jughead in a hug.

They don’t say anything, Jughead just holds him right back. He lets Archie cry on his suit, and his own grip is probably wrinkling Archie’s nice navy blazer. Neither of them care. Betty and Veronica stand off to the side, while Fred talks with their attorney. Archie eventually separates long enough to hug Ronnie and Betty both, all three of them sniffling softly. He’s quick to get back to Jughead’s side.

They don’t link their fingers, though the urge is there. Jughead looks at Archie and his best friend stares right back through watery, hazel eyes. They’re gonna be okay, he thinks, in time.


	6. it's always me and you against the world, my god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time flies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another episodic chapter! another series of moments exploring their relationship. 
> 
> enjoy!

“Jughead, we’re gonna be late.”

“I’m not going to school.” Jughead immediately regrets the words, as he can practically hear Archie panicking on the other side of the door. “You can come in, I’m decent. Door’s not locked.”

Archie does, and tries to make it seem like he’s not practically vibrating with concern. He’s always wound tight with worry these days. It’s endearing, if tiresome. Jughead looks up as Archie moves closer, all dressed for school with his backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“I’m not dying, sheesh.” Jughead shoots Archie a week glare. “I’m bleeding and I _want_ to die, but alas, fate isn’t so kind.”

Realization flits across Archie’s face like waves crashing against a rock. He blushes and opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“S’fine. I’m just gonna stay home, okay? You can pick up my homework for me.” Jughead yawns and gives into the urge to stretch. He sinks into the bed after, thoroughly exhausted after having been kept up all night by cramps and his own nagging thoughts.

“You sure? I can stay home.” Archie’s backpack is already hitting the ground, and he’s looking around like—god, Jughead doesn’t even know what. Like he can find the cure to Jughead’s woes tucked around the house somewhere.

“No, no, you go. Go get my homework and be a jock and whatever. First day is always the worst, I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Archie looks torn, gnawing at his lower lip.

“Will it help if I text you dumb things all day, to prove I’m still alive?”

“Yeah,” Archie admits.

“Fine, done. I’ll text you whenever some inane thought pops into my head, deal?”

Archie picks up his bag again as he nods. “Deal. Text me if you need anything, okay? I could swing by at lunch, or I can skip practice if you need me to come home, alright?”

Jughead hides his blush in his pillow. He waves Archie away, and doesn’t look up from his pillow until his bedroom door shuts with a click. He’s still in pain, still feeling wrong in his body, but his heart is lighter and the grin won’t leave his face.

 

True to his word, Jughead texts Archie. Probably more than Archie anticipated, but hey—Archie agreed to this. Besides, it _does_ help keep Jughead’s mind off his predicament.

 **To: Anchovie**  
_9:02am  
__does everyone miss me :P_

 **From: Anchovie**  
_9:10am  
__I dunno about everyone but I do_

Jughead swallows. He still hasn’t gotten out of bed, still encased in blankets and warmth.

 **To: Anchovie**  
_9:12am  
__you’re a sap_

He holds his phone close to his chest while he waits for a response. Even after it vibrates, he doesn’t look at it right away.  Only when it vibrates again, reminding him he’s got an unread text, only then does he finally look at it.

 **From: Anchovie**  
_9:15am  
__< 3_

Jughead stares at the heart, his own beating rapidly in his chest. He screencaps the message before he can talk himself out of it, and once more smothers his giddiness in his pillow.

 

 

“How you doin’, kiddo?”

Jughead looks over blearily to see Fred standing in the doorway. “M’alright.”

“Need anything?”

Jughead considers the question for a moment, and pushes at the emotions threatening to overwhelm him again—as they have been all day. “Uh, no, I think I’m good.” He gestures to the bottles of water lined up on the bedside table and the bottle of pain relief meds sitting there too. “Thank you, though.”

Fred waves off the appreciation. “Just checking on you. Text me if you need something, okay? I’ll be downstairs.” He hesitates. “Anything you need, Jug, I mean it. Let me know.”

Jughead nods. “Thanks,” he says again.

Fred smiles instead of replying, and then he’s gone. Back down the stairs that creak under his weight.

Jughead stares at the ceiling. His heart is hammering again, and tears are swimming in his eyes. It’s like he told Archie a couple weeks ago: his own dad has never really been an asshole about it all, but he’d never made things as easy as he could’ve. He never hesitates to call Jughead his son, but he doesn’t do anything to help, either. The first time Jughead tried to talk to him about buying a binder, all he got was a chuckle and a clap on the shoulder.

He swallows and rolls over to grab his phone.

 **To: Anchovie**  
_2:15pm  
__your dad is awesome_

The response takes a little longer than earlier ones.

 **From: Anchovie**  
_2:25pm  
__yea he is. why tho?_

 **To: Anchovie**  
_2:27pm  
__just is._

 **From: Anchovie**  
_2:35pm  
__well youre family, so_

Jughead doesn’t know what to say to that, and decides to take a page out of Archie’s book.

 **To: Anchovie:**  
_2:38pm  
__< 3_

 

 

“How did you know you were asexual?”

Jughead raises his head and stares, sand-sleep in his eyes, at Archie. “Hm?” Jughead doesn’t bother hiding the way he wipes at the drool sticking to his chin. “What?” He asks again, when he realizes he’s got no idea what Archie asked.

“How did you know you were asexual?” Archie isn’t looking at him. He’s on his back, staring at his ceiling. His hands are linked and resting on his stomach, and his thumbs are twitching and fidgeting.

Jughead, still on his stomach with his head pillowed on his arms, thinks about the question. “It’s hard to say, exactly. I kind of feel like it was back in elementary school, but really, what kid that age is thinking about sex?” Jughead’s laugh is soft, but doesn’t pull the same sound from Archie. “Middle school solidified it for me. People started talking about making out and handjobs behind the bleachers, and I just… didn’t feel anything.”

Jughead pauses and shakes his head. “That’s not the right way to say it. I didn’t feel the need to do that kind of stuff. I didn’t see the point.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jughead says with a nod. “It’s just not something that ever had my attention. So, I did some research and lo and behold, there’s a term for that.” He looks up at Archie. “The trans thing is part of it, too,” he adds quietly.

That catches Archie’s attention. His eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up, his hair flops as he turns to look at Jughead in surprise. “Really?” He asks as he twists to lay on his side, facing Jughead.

Jughead nods. “I didn’t realize it for a while, but it’s definitely part of the reason. I don’t like my body on the best of days, I don’t want to subject anyone else to it.”

“Jughead, you’re not—?”

“I know, like, logically, that I’m not unappealing.” Jughead stares at the wall instead of his best friend. “It’s just a mental hurdle I can’t get over. And that’s okay. It’s not a big deal, overall. And I think I’d still be ace even if I wasn’t trans. It’s just part of me, y’know?”

Archie’s gaze drops to where he’s now toying with the fringe of the blanket.

“Why do you ask?” Jughead’s voice is soft.

“Lately I’ve been feeling… I don’t know how to explain it.” Archie sighs. “After everything with Grundy, I kind of feel like I’ll never...” He’s pink in the cheeks, and it’d be endearing if not for the words tumbling from his trembling lips. “I guess that’s a normal response, but it’s still weird.”

Jughead opens his mouth, but realizes he doesn’t know what to say.

“I still want sex,” Archie continues, blush worsening with every word. “I can feel that, in the back of my mind, but…” He sighs and sinks to lay on his back again. His gaze once more focused on the ceiling, it seems easier for him to continue. “The thought of doing that with someone else makes me feel sort of nauseous.”

Jughead swallows. “You don’t have to have sex, even if you get aroused.” This time, Jughead is the one who turns. He props himself on one arm and reaches for Archie’s hand. Slowly, carefully, giving time for Archie to withdraw, he links their fingers.

“I know,” Archie replies. He thumbs along Jughead’s skin. “It’s just weird to think. It’s all just weird.”

Jughead doesn’t reply. He leans over and presses a soft kiss to Archie’s temple. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.

Archie grips his hand tighter. “Yeah.”

 

 

The rest of the schoolyear comes and goes in a flash. Tests and dances and high school gossip milling about. It feels like he blinked and suddenly the end of sophomore year has crept up on them, bleeding into summertime. Before they know it, graduation has come and gone, and it’s all about warm weather and bright skies.

 

 

“You know what we should do?”

They’re in the garage again, the door propped open to let cool air funnel into an otherwise sweltering container. Archie looks up from his music sheets to Jughead who’s sprawled sideways across one of the recliners.

“What should we do?” Archie asks slowly as he sets his pen aside.

“We should go on that road trip.” Jughead isn’t looking at Archie. “I still have the map, with the places we wanted to go marked on it.”

“Really?”

Jughead nods.

“Okay.”

Finally, he looks over at Archie. “Really?” He asks right back.

Archie is grinning. “Yeah.” He puts his guitar to the side too, and stands up. He takes a moment to stretch before walking over to Jughead. He leans down so his face is over Jughead’s, a foot of empty, warm air separating them. “Why not? Let’s do it.”

Jughead’s mouth is dry. “Yeah.” It comes out as a whisper.

Instead of kissing him on the mouth, Archie leans and kisses Jughead’s forehead. “I’ll go tell dad.”

“Kay.”

 

 

The car is packed up, gassed up, ready to go. The sun is shining and both their weather apps say it’s meant to stay that way for the duration of their trip. Jughead is dressed for the beach, and he had to talk Archie into actually wearing a t-shirt despite the heat. Fred looks almost ridiculous, in jeans and his typical plaid shirt, very clearly not dressed for the same destination as the boys.

They’ve been standing around staring at each other for the better part of fifteen minutes.

“Uh,” Archie cuts through the silence. “We’re gonna get going now.”

Fred holds up a hand.

No one moves.

“I expect to get a call every now and then, okay? And texts. Letting me know you’re safe. Maybe send some pictures or something, whatever. I don’t need a novel. I just want to know my boys are safe and sound, alright?”

A lump forms in Jughead’s throat; where Archie laughs awkwardly, Jughead still hasn’t managed to wrap his head around having Fred as a father. Hasn’t managed to wrap his head around having a _father_ in general, someone who cares unrelentingly. Even after months, it’s still a feeling that’s riddled with disbelief. He’s darting forward while Archie stammers something about ‘not gonna die’ and ‘who would kidnap us’ and other nonsense.

Jughead darts forward and hugs Fred. Fred immediately curls around him in a hug as well, leaving Archie standing off to the side, his excuses trailing off.

“Uh,” Archie says again, once more breaking the silence.

Jughead pulls back and Fred does too, not before ruffling Jughead’s hatless hair affectionately. “Thanks, dad.” The words feel weird but not wrong.

Fred beams. “I mean it, keep me posted okay? I just want to know you’re safe. Anything happens, give me a call and I’ll be there.

Archie nods and lets Fred tug him in for a hug too. He doesn’t put up a fuss and hugs his dad back.

“Have fun, be safe,” Fred says as they pull away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

A chorus of laughter carries the boys into the car. Before long, they’re on the road as planned, leaving Fred in the rearview mirror.


	7. we ain't ever getting older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally go on their long-promised road trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, the final full-length chapter! after this, there's a very short epilogue that i felt deserved to be read all on its own, i'm going to (try to remember to) post that tomorrow morning! 
> 
> again, this is snippet-y, just brief moments in their travels. in my mind, i headcanon that riverdale is somewhere in northern CA, so they traveled up the coast to seattle (similar to kj and cole's trip, but reversed)
> 
> anywho, hope you enjoy!

“So,” Jughead starts. He’s staring up at the night sky, open and wide and flickering with endless stars. It’s mesmerizing, but not as dizzying as knowing what’s been bubbling between them since this road trip started. From the moment they left the Andrews driveway, it was undeniable. Tension, thick and syrupy, welling up until here and now—ready to burst.

“So,” Archie replies. He’s looking up at the sky, too, but his gaze keeps darting to Jughead every few moments.

“Come here often?” Jughead asks.

It sparks a laugh from Archie, and evidently spurs him into action. He rolls to his side, staring plainly and unrelentingly at Jughead. Archie’s grin is wide, illuminated by moonlight. The shadows cast across him would look sickly blue on anyone else—or maybe that’s just what being in love does. Jughead doesn’t know, not for certain, but he’s excited to find out.

“I’m in love with you.” Archie says it first, suddenly, like he just can’t keep it contained any longer.

Jughead props himself up on his elbow, mirroring Archie’s own pose. “Yeah?” Jughead asks, savoring Archie’s eyeroll and follow-up pout.

 “Pretty sure you’re in love with me.”

Jughead’s laugh is swept up by the hot wind around them. “Yep.”

Archie leans in, teetering for a moment before finding his balance again. He ends even closer to Jughead than before, their knees bumping comfortably. Archie reaches out with one hand and cups Jughead’s cheek. It’s gentle and familiar, feels like picking up an old book again, starting from where you left off. Jughead blinks and their first kiss in Archie’s bed flashes behind his eyes and now it’s _Jughead_ who can’t stand to wait any longer.

He kisses Archie hard, crashing into him and both of them gasping in surprise and pain. It’s a miracle that they don’t go toppling off the roof of the car. Archie steadies them and guides the kiss into something less messy. Slowly, he licks the seam of Jughead’s lips and the kiss deepens. It sends a sharp thrill through them both, and Jughead silently commits everything about this moment to his memory.

The feel of Archie so close, the fact that Archie tastes like lukewarm cola and stale popcorn; the desert wind that ripples across them, hot but still leaving shivers in its wake. The scratch of the blanket they’re lying on, and the way it rustles as they both fight to get closer. Archie’s hand on his cheek, warm and calloused. Archie’s hair tangled in his hand. Archie’s everything. Archie, Archie, _Archie._

“Still with me?”

“Yeah.” Jughead steals another kiss, short-lived and promising. “Yeah.”

 

 

The windows are cracked and just enough warm summer air is filling the car as they drive. Jughead watches the scenery rush by them, eyes heavy. The hand not propping up his head is resting on his thigh and his fingers are linked with Archie’s.

“I just realized something,” Archie says suddenly over the low hum of the music and the wind.

“Hm?” Jughead’s reply is sluggish, the words wrapped inside a lazy smile.

“Do you think dad would’ve let us come on this trip if we’d been dating before we left?” Archie is pink in the cheeks as he talks.

Jughead hums. “Probably. Not like we’re gonna do anything _scandalous_.”

“No, I know, but. You think he knows that?”

Jughead likes to watch the blush spread, blotchy and quick, across Archie’s freckled skin.

“I think.” Jughead pauses to yawn. “I think he’s known that this,” he nods to where their hands are entwined, “was inevitable for a long time.” He smiles at his lap. “I don’t think he’s worried in the slightest. It’s not like you’re gonna get me pregnant or something.”

A choked up, startled laugh spills from Archie’s lips. “Jug!”

“Well!” Jughead tosses a wink Archie’s way for good measure. “It’s true! Not that much trouble we can _really_ get into.”

Archie seems to settle at his words. He nods, more to himself than to Jughead. “You know—you know that I don’t, shit. Uh.”

Jughead raises an eyebrow and bite backs a snarky remark.

“I don’t expect sex, or anything.” The blush runs like wet paint down his neck, under the collar of his shirt. Even his bare arms erupt in a red flush, his whole body a beacon of his embarrassment. “Like. I just need you to know that, okay? I don’t expect anything to change except, y’know, kissing. And dates. And living together, but not because you’re homeless but because we’re dating.”

Jughead leans his head against the window again. “You’re thinking too much.” His words shut Archie up but clearly do nothing to ease the anxiety rolling off his boyfriend ( _boyfriend, holy shit_ ) like tsunami waves. “I know you don’t expect sex, I never thought you did.” His head is swimming, and the sun has fallen past the horizon. “Okay, look, I’m too tired for this right now. Can we do this tomorrow, after we’ve slept for at least ten hours? I promise, I will be able to have this conversation tomorrow.”

Archie nods. “Yeah, course, Jug.”

Jughead squeezes his hand around Archie’s. “I love you,” he adds, a gentle reminder.

Some of the tension leaves Archie’s frame. “Love you too, Juggie.”

 

 

The next morning is actually the next afternoon, and Jughead wakes just as the room service is leaving. Archie stands, anxious, by the cart of food and coffee. Jughead sits up and opens his arms wide; slowly, Archie approaches him. Once he’s close enough, Jughead tugs him onto the bed to sit.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully, okay, Archibald Andrews?”

Archie looks pale as a sheet when he nods.

“I love you. I have never thought for a moment that you, as someone who likes sex, would try to push me into something I don’t want to do. You aren’t that kind of person, and you never have been. I know that you will respect my boundaries, because you are my best friend _and_ my boyfriend.”

Archie opens his mouth, but Jughead shushes him.

“This is incredibly corny, let me finish, because you’re not getting another speech like this from me unless you _absolutely_ need it.”

Less pale and smiling, Archie nods again.

“I am asexual, you’re not, that’s _fine_. We can still have a perfectly fulfilling relationship in our own perfect way, and we’ll figure out exactly what that entails when the time comes. As for right now? We’re sixteen, _barely_. I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing anything even if I _wasn’t_ ace. Maybe one day in the future, I’ll want sex. Maybe it’ll never change. I honestly don’t know.”

Jughead rubs at his eyes. “I’m losing my train of thought.” He admits it quietly, with a laugh.

“I love you.” Archie reaches out and cups Jughead’s face with both hands. “I love you so much.”

Jughead meets him halfway in a delicate kiss. He grins under Archie’s lips, and they both pull away beaming. “You feel better now?” Jughead asks. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Archie says as he waves a flippant hand. “I just got this thought in my head that _you_ might think… it was dumb.”

“But sweet, too.” He reaches up and pats Archie’s cheek. He opens his mouth to say something else, but his stomach growling cuts the moment short. He raises an eyebrow, expectant.

“Say no more.” Archie sneaks one more kiss before he’s up and off the bed to pull the cart closer.

 

 

“This is nice,” Jughead breathes quietly; if they were outside, his words would’ve been swept up by the wind, carried across the bay out to the ocean. They aren’t outside, though. They’re atop the space needle, mere glass separating them from the night sky outside, and all the lights sprinkled across the city.

Jughead leans back into Archie’s arms.

“Yeah.” Archie’s agreement is belated but earnest. His grip tightens around Jughead for a moment, a gentle and affectionate squeeze. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

“Same.” Jughead watches as some lights go dark and others light up. “Maybe we can move here, after high school.”

Archie’s grip tightens again. “You think we’ll make it that long?” His words are hushed, and not necessarily pessimistic. More so riddled with disbelief, gentle shock, like a kid on Christmas.

Jughead casts a quick glance around them and is satisfied that for now, they’re relatively alone. When he speaks, Archie has to lean in to hear him.

“I’ve been in love with you for ages. Longer than I’ve known what being in love meant. I don’t even know when it started, where it stopped being friendship and when I started wanting more. I couldn’t tell you.” Jughead sighs. “I want this for as long as it’ll work, which I think could be a good long while. I’m reluctant to go all out and say _forever_ , because that’s a little too Stephanie Meyer for me.”

Archie laughs.

“But, you know, I don’t think it’s crazy. I don’t think it’s impossible that we can make this work.”

Archie’s lips are dry against the side of his face. “You’re so smart,” he says, a little teasing.

“I’m a hopelessly romantic asshole is what I am, but somehow I’ve won you over.” Jughead elbows Archie in the side, not even enough to have him flinching. They settle into silence again, until they have to leave if they want to make it back to the hotel before it’s totally pitch black out.

 

 

Fred isn’t home when the boys make it back to the house, covered in a day and a half worth of grime. They unpack swiftly, leaving a lot of it in the hallway to be carried up the stairs later. They make a quick meal before falling onto the couch together to watch television.

They’re still there, tangled together and dozing, when Fred does get home.

He doesn’t cough awkwardly this time, he isn’t even sure it would catch their attention given how tired they both look. Even Jughead, who is far from a heavy sleeper, looks sacked out, could sleep through an earthquake.

Their tangled fingers don’t escape Fred’s notice, and neither does—lord help him—the hickey sticking out from Jughead’s collar. He laughs under his breath before sighing. He starts dinner, and starts preparing himself for the conversation they need to have tonight.

 

Jughead waits until Archie’s nose wrinkles. It’s always been a tell-tale sign Archie is awake, or close to it. “Your dad is home.”

“So?”

“So. We need to tell him we’re dating.”

“You said he probably already knows.”

“Well, _yeah_ , but we can’t just not tell him.”

Archie finally opens his eyes and instead of answering, he kisses Jughead soundly on the lips.

Jughead returns the pressure but breaks the kiss after a moment. “C’mon.”

“Alright, but you need to get up first. I’m not gonna try to climb over you to get to the floor.”

Jughead is perched perilously close to the edge of the couch, and maneuvering himself off it proves to be more of a challenge than expected. His limbs are still sleep-heavy and he stumbles a few times before finding his ground. Archie doesn’t fare much better, but eventually they’re on their feet and headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” Fred greets with a nod toward the stove. “Dinner is just about ready.”

They all pause.

“Alright, let’s have a talk.” Fred is the first to relent and takes his usual chair at the dining room table. Jughead and Archie follow suit. Once they’re all seated, Fred starts again. “I figured this would happen eventually, and I was aware that it happening on the trip was likely. I don’t have a problem with that.

“Jughead, you told me before that you’re asexual. Is that still the case?” His words seem clinical and invasive, but at the same time, they aren’t. Jughead thinks back to when he called Fred _dad_ just before they left, thinks about how true the word felt.

“Yeah, still true.”

“Alright. I’m going to try and make this conversation as painless as possible.”

Jughead and Archie share somewhat uneasy laughs.

 

 

Fred does try, though. By the end of the talk, they’re all a bit red in the face but the air feels clearer. There’s no tension, no worry, and all of them feel lighter for the first time in a long time.

Things are easy; things are okay.

Things are _good_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably my favorite chapter aside from ch1. comments and kudos adored!


	8. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple, soft epilogue for these two.

It’s cliché. Cliché beyond belief. They’re standing at the bottom of the stairs leading into the school, hand in hand, peers bustling around them. They’re old news by now, even though they’ve only been truly dating for three months. It’s a blessing, really, because Jughead doesn’t think he could deal with people making a fuss over it. He looks over at Archie, who makes no attempt to appear as though he hasn’t been caught staring at Jughead like a lovesick dork.

Jughead rolls his eyes, but grips Archie’s hand tighter.

“You ready?”

“You say it like it’s some big step.”

“Hey, junior year is pretty major.” Archie is only a little teasing, more genuine than not. “It’s the first time I get to hold your hand in school.”

Jughead bumps their shoulders together. “Dork.” All the same, he jerks his head toward the propped open doors of Riverdale high. “C’mon, let’s go.” He makes it up a single step before Archie stops him. The single inch Jughead has on him grows to three or four inches with the difference made by the concrete step. He feels ridiculous as he leans down, mirroring Archie’s laughter.

The kiss feels ridiculous, too, but also warm and sweet and just right.

Even as Kevin Keller waltz by and shouts, “get a room!”

Even then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for reading!! i hope you've all enjoyed this mish-mash of a ride. comments and kudos are much, much appreciated!! till next time!


End file.
